The Last Fix by K.O. Dahl

Author:K.O. Dahl
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Twenty-One

Mental Arithmetic

Frank Frølich found a gap for his car in Torggata between a kebab house and one of the greengrocers with a better selection of exotic vegetables. He remembered he should have gone shopping, but resisted the temptation, crossed the street and continued down the opposite pavement. A young man wearing colourful shorts and a helmet on his head was slalom-cycling between pedestrians. Frølich wormed his way through a group of Africans in expensive leather jackets embroiled in a heated discussion. A parked van was blocking the traffic. It was a clapped-out Toyota Hiace with large rusty holes in the sides. The rear door was open wide and the back of the van was crammed full with slaughtered animals. Arab-looking boys lifted the meat up on to their shoulders and ran a shuttle service between the van and one of the shops. Smuggled meat from Sweden, Frølich reckoned, and stood watching the unloading for a few seconds. In the end he tore himself away and walked up Bernt Ankers gate to the specialist publishing house where Merethe Fossum worked. He came to a general office with a central switchboard on the ground floor. The man in the office wore a uniform and belonged to a security service with a handcuff as a logo. He grabbed a telephone and asked Frølich if he was expected. Frølich took a risk. 'Yes,' he said. The man in the uniform rang through and passed the receiver to Frølich who put it to his ear and heard a phone ring twice. Merethe Fossum's voice was deep and a little husky. Sexy, thought Frølich, and asked if he could go up. She said it was time for lunch anyway and suggested he found himself a seat in the canteen.

He was shown to the basement by the guard. The company canteen was of the self-service variety with a long counter where you could help yourself to slices of bread and dry, dense rolls with traditional Norwegian pеlegg: dark mutton sausage, liver paste and curved cuts of cheese garnished with red pepper. With your coffee you could have chocolate cookies in a plastic wrapper. A fat matronly type wearing a white apron asked for five kroner for a cup of coffee which looked as black and impenetrable as used oil from an old tractor. Frølich peeped into the milk jug beside the cash desk. It was empty. He coughed. Fatty knew what was required without turning. She took a red carton of milk from the bench behind the counter and placed it in front of him. He poured in a substantial quantity of milk but did not discern a hint of greyer tones in the black liquid.

It was clearly a kind of lunch break. A steady flow of people came down the stairs and the canteen began to fill up. Frølich found an unoccupied table by the entrance so that Merethe Fossum would not have any problems identifying him. As soon as she appeared he knew it was her.

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